Chapter Eight

Carver

" G oddamn potholes," I growl, gripping the steering wheel as the truck bounces through the deepest of them on the way back to the cabin. It's barely even eight in the morning, but I've already put in hours of work this morning, securing the property with barbed wire and No Trespassing signs.

It won't keep everyone out, but it'll damn sure make it harder for anyone to get close to Lena until I can get fences and a security system up. The potholes are the least of my priorities right now. Ensuring that no one else ever gets close to her again is the only thing that matters now.

It's all I could think about last night—her scream. The thought of losing her. She slept soundly in my arms, clinging to me as if she wasn't ever going to let me go, and I couldn't fucking breathe, afraid if I closed my eyes, she'd slip away.

As soon as the sun came up, I went to work, trying to ensure nothing like that ever happens again. I went back out to the clearing first thing. The motherfucker who attacked her was long gone—hauled off by the Sheriff last night. They're lucky I called them instead of making my way back out there to kill him myself. I thought about it. More than once.

Instead, I let them take him in. They wanted to talk to Lena, but that's not happening. They have my statement and his confession. It's all they need. She isn't reliving a goddamn thing for them to do their jobs.

She'll never think of him again, as far as I'm concerned.

I strung barbed wire all along the back of the clearing, cutting off access from the public trails. Hikers are no longer welcome on my fucking property. So long as she's here with me, they enter at their own peril.

The truck bounces free of the potholes, breaking out of the trees into the meadow, and an icy shiver works its way down my spine.

Lena's little blue car is missing.

"Fuck," I growl, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. My heart pounds like it's trying to break free of my chest. She can't be gone. She fucking can't.

I hit the gas, roaring up the gravel driveway. The truck is barely in park before I shove the door open and leap out, scanning wildly as if that's going to make her car materialize.

Anxiety twists in my stomach, sharper than the barbed wire I just strung up. There's a part of me that's terrified she woke up this morning, horrified by the way I claimed her last night. She wanted it in the moment, but I'm supposed to protect her, even if it means protecting her from herself. She was distraught, too upset to know what she was asking.

And I fucked her with an unconscious man at our feet. Christ. The darkness of the act was too much for a sweet little thing like her. Of course it was. She's an angel, sweet and pure. And I've dragged her deep into kink and sin, defiling her in every way imaginable.

I should've been her sanctuary, not the storm. I'm the worst kind of Daddy—a goddamn monster trying to claim a princess.

The realization threatens to tear me apart, guilt riding me hard.

As I stand there, the empty cabin taunting me, I feel the cracks forming in my fucking soul. Lena, my sweet, playful little brat who drives me out of my goddamn mind with desire…is gone.

It's unbearable.

She's the light in my life, the only fucking thing that makes any sense. She's the only one capable of dancing through my defenses and making me want the things I never dared to admit before—family, a home, love.

Without her, none of it means a goddamn thing.

"Christ," I mutter, possessive rage and fear roiling in my guts. "What did you do to me, little girl?"

I think back to the way she looked up at me last night, so trusting, so damn innocent even when I was driving into her like my life depended on it, even when we were fucking each other raw.

I gave her every piece of my soul in that moment. She can't give it back now. I need her. Need her laughter, her softness, her teasing. I need to hear her call me 'Daddy' in that sweet, sultry tone that tells me she's mine, all mine.

I've never believed in fate or destiny. I've always believed we forge our own, that we get in this life only what we fight and claw for—but she's changed my mind. Because she was made for me, molded from pieces of my soul—to challenge me, to love me, to consume me again and again.

I need her more than I've ever needed to breathe or survive. I need her. And whether she knows it or not, she needs me the same way.

I'm her air, her armor, and her shelter. She needs me to ground her, to keep her safe, and to let her fly.

"Shit. Get it together, Carver." I run a hand over my face, trying to think. I have to find her, have to make sure she's safe. One way or another, I have to show her that I can be the Daddy she deserves, that I'm not just some beast driven by his kinks and obsessions.

I'm going to find her. It's not a point of negotiation.

I climb back into my truck, revving the engine as I slam the door and pull off, the need to find her overwhelming everything else.

I should be fucking terrified right now, trembling at the idea of losing her. But instead, determination pours through me in a flood.

She's mine. My sweet little brat. My playful tease. My innocent angel.

I won't rest until she's back in my arms, safe and sound.

"I'm coming, pretty baby," I whisper. "I promise, Daddy's coming for you."